Apprentice
by Zighana
Summary: A strange phenomenon has taken root in Atlanta, Georgia. There are a handful of walkers that instead of attacking the living, they're protecting them. The cause is Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. After a chance encounter, Marie offers to protect Rick and his team but for a hefty price: Carl.
1. Chapter 1

**Apprentice**

_A strange phenomenon has taken root in Atlanta, Georgia. There are a handful of walkers that instead of attacking the living, they're protecting them. The cause is Marie Laveau, Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. After a chance encounter, Marie offers to protect Rick and his team but for a hefty price: Carl._

**Run**

Carl never understood what drew him to leave the safety of his group. Be it the crisp air or a burst of defiance against Rick, he snuck out of the shack they inhabited and left.

He is aware that wandering around a ghost town with no means of direction was lethal; this world had no time for dallying. But he told himself that it was to stock up on food and ammunition and it was a good enough excuse for him. The sky's orange glow warned that night was fast approaching. Night is essentially the worst time to be out without back-up or defenses. Carl almost never goes out at night, especially alone. But his age gave way to cocky appeal and he told himself to test himself, prove to Rick and his ego that he can handle himself, that he doesn't need Daddy Dearest running to his rescue. He pulls out his pistol, given to him by Shane, and spins it. It's the habit he formed when he wanted good luck. He tossed it into the sky and waited. When it slipped into his holster he gave an overconfident grin and kept marching.

Minutes ticked by before he discovered an old ice cream shop a good mile away from the shack. Perhaps there's some canned fruit (he hopes for maraschino cherries) stashed inside the cabinets and some heavily packaged sweets that are days from expiration. A boy can only hope.

He tries to peek through the boarded up windows and listen closely for signs of shuffling and rasping. The coming darkness is making Carl depend on his hearing more than his sight. When he hears silence, he comes through the back door guns a-blazing, checking every corner for a walker. He checks the barstool for anything edible and becomes disappointed when he finds nothing. Some desiccated cherries, molding fruit, maggot-eaten ice cream, and some powder that was once crushed almonds made the list of things Carl will never eat. He finds a jar of murky something when he hears the tell-tale signs of a walker fast approaching. Gun in hand, he waits for them to come closer when a pair of cold, rotten hands grab him from behind.

He screams, struggling against the hungry walker before smashing the jar against its face. Lo and behold, maraschino cherries scattered from the impact, masking the decaying walker's scent with sickly sweetness.

Carl vows to kill it for ruining his favorite snack.

He pulls out his gun and fires.

Click.

_What?_ Carl swore he filled it with bullets this morning. Missing chamber?

Click.

Carl remembers: He shot at three walkers, and wasted six bullets. Six, precious, bullets.

He should listen to Rick more often about bullet conservation.

Carl got into a stance, facing the walker, getting a good look at it. Something was, strange about this walker. It didn't moan or rasp, it didn't move.

It stood there. Staring.

It scares Carl more than the moving hungry ones.

It wasn't the behavior that was strange; it was the walker's appearance. His clothes looked old, like from the early twentieth century. His form of decomposition was water-damage. He reeks of swamp and dirt, a contrast from the fresh and forest-scented walkers that Carl's encountered. Another peculiar thing was the walker's eyes were milky white. No yellowing or signs of infection.

This is officially the strangest walker Carl has ever encountered in his life.

"What do you.." Carl began.

"Shh…" the walker hisses, its rigid hand putting a finger to its lips. It talks? Is this an advanced walker?

The walker disappears into the shadows, and the rasping came. A new walker has arrived, looking for a meal. Carl needs to hide fast—

It spots him.

The new walker comes at him, manic and excited. Hands claw at air as Carl ducked and dodged and swung his gun at its skull, trying to crack it. Their tango continued for seconds until the walker managed to swat the gun away and pin Carl to the barstool, teeth aiming for the jugular. Carl muttered a silent prayer for a quick death until something even stranger happened. The hungry walker was ripped in half by a bayonet, held by the quiet walker. The silent one nods its head at Carl, before smashing the mutilated corpse of its victim to mush. Carl sinks to the floor, trying to grasp what had just happened until he sees his savior hold out its badly decomposed hand for Carl to take.

A walker kills another walker, to save a human's life? The confusion was too much to bear.

"You did a good job, Bastian. You may walk this child back to his home to make sure he's safe."

A voice floats in the darkness. Feminine and deep, it soothed Carl yet frightened him. He hears heels click sharply towards him, and feels a warm hand touch his face.

"Little boy, didn't anyone tell you to not go out when it's dark?" the voice asked.

Everything went black after that.


	2. Chapter 2: Snakes

**Chapter Two: **

**Snakes**

"**Carl…**Carl_…Carl_, are you even listening to me?" Carl snapped his head up and looked up at Rick. It has been over fifteen minutes since Carl's been sitting, staring at nothing while Rick tries to squeeze answers out of him about his whereabouts last night. He can't tell him what happened; it's beyond understanding. How could he tell his father that he's been saved by the very monsters they've been trying to escape. The very thought is mind-boggling.

Instead he stares, not giving any information except silence. If Michonne were here… no, he will not think of Michonne. As far as he knew, she, Judith, Daryl, Glenn, and the others were dead. All because of-

_Hiss._

A pronounced hissing of snakes rings throughout the shack. Rick stops his lecturing and looks around cautiously, hand perched on his gun holster. Even before the apocalypse happened, Carl never had seen a snake outside of his books. Georgia had very few reptiles slithering and crawling about, especially in the cities. Now Carl hears them, and, for once, he's afraid.

_Hissss…_

The hissing becomes urgent, violent even. It becomes louder, making the shack seem like a tomb for the two. The louder the hissing gets, the more the snakes seem to get closer. It didn't take long for them to come out of their hiding places.

One slithered out of Carl's backpack, the next out of a dilapidated sink nozzle; three came out of the cracks in the walls and floorboards. As if things couldn't get any stranger, Rick collapses onto his knees and heaves.

Carl stood still with fright, unable to help his father as Rick expelled fluids, changing color with each heave. When three snakes slid out of Rick's mouth with ease and slithered towards him, Carl wonders if this could get any stranger. Riddled with shock, he eyes the snakes to recognize whether or not the reptiles were harmless. They're…coral snakes? Or are they milk snakes?

_Red on Black is a friend of Jack. Red on Yellow will kill a fellow._ The snakes had red on yellow; they're coral snakes. Carl gulped deeply as they inched towards him, hissing sadistically. Then, they fled to the middle of the floor.

The snakes went into a pile and began to expand, dancing around the floors as if performing a show for their victims. They made lines, curves, and diagonals with their bodies until they stopped. When they finished, Carl gasped in shock.

Their bodies spelled out, clear as day, his name.

CARL

As if his day couldn't get any more bizarre.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

"You like my pets?"

That silky baritone of a woman's voice is enough to jolt Carl's memory into overdrive: the walker, the woman, the color red.

They could smell her before they've seen her; she smelled of warm spices, crisp vanilla, death and decay.

When she entered, the snakes came to her and wrapped themselves around her, giving her a more lethal appearance: long black hair in thick twists, red pantsuit with red pumps to match complemented her chocolate skin. She looked no older than mid 30's, but her frightening black eyes told truth about her age. Her face spoke friendly, while her energy screamed caution.

"Marie Laveau," Rick whispered with fright. He stood and walked towards her, grabbing her hand and kissing it.

Who is this woman?

"Your son and I have a lot to talk about," Marie said. With the wave of her hand the door slammed and locked itself.


End file.
